how long and pale and haggard it was, how sunken the temples, how
bloodless the tightly pressed lips, how hollow the unshaven cheeks. When
she turned to gaze at her mother, as daintily clad as ever, and as
delicately perfumed--showing no evidence of dusty travel--she saw how
pitifully pale was that dear beautiful face. But the eyes were no longer
proud!--only anxious, tender and purple-shadowed.

Next, Gwendolyn lifted her eyes to the Doctor, and felt suddenly
conscience-stricken, remembering how she had always dreaded him, had
taken the mere thought of his coming as punishment; remembering, too,
how helpful and kind he had been to her through the night.

He began to speak, low and earnestly, and as if continuing something
already half said:

"Pardon my bluntness, but it's a bad thing when there's too much money
spent on forcing the brain before the body is given a chance--or the
soul. Does a child get food that is simple and nourishing, and enough of
it? Is all exercise taken in the open? Too often, I find, where there's
a motor at the beck and call of a nurse, the child in her charge is
utterly cut off--and in the period of quickest growth--from a normal
supply of plain walking. Every boy and girl has a right" (his voice
deepened with feeling) "to the great world out of doors. Let the warm
sun, and the fresh air, and God's good earth--"

Gwendolyn moved. "Is--is he praying?" she whispered.

There was a moment of silence. Then, "No, daughter," answered her
father, while her mother leaned to lay a gentle hand on her forehead.
The Doctor went aside to the larger table and busied himself with some
bottles. When he came back, her father lifted her head a trifle by
lifting the pillow--her mother rising quickly to assist--and the Doctor
put a glass to Gwendolyn's lips. She drank dutifully, and was lowered.

At once she felt stronger. "Is the sun up?" she asked. Her voice was
weak, and somewhat hoarse.

"Would you like to see the sky?" asked her father. And without waiting
for her eager nod, crossed to the front window and drew aside the heavy
silk hangings.

Serenely blue was the long rectangle framed by curtains and casing.
Across it not a single fat sheep was straying.

"Moth-er!"

"Yes, darling?"

"Is--is always the same piece of Heaven right there through the window?"

"No. The earth is turning all the time--just as your globe in the
school-room turns. And so each moment you see a new square of sky."

T